


Cobweb Headaches

by koakuma_tsuri



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Compilation, M/M, Secret Relationship, casual sex gone horribly wrong, fluffy one shots, worst kept secret in history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koakuma_tsuri/pseuds/koakuma_tsuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cookersen fluffy oneshots.<br/>Grouped together because they have no true meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> It gets very sunny at the WACA.  
> Contains: inappropriate allusions to debauched sex acts :D

There are only two things really to be expected of Perth. One: the characteristics of the pitch, world renowned for its bounce and speed, admired and loathed in equal measure. The England team look upon it with a trepidation they do not admit, but the media seem to force down upon them. As Matt Prior said, the fact that England hadn’t won in so long isn’t off putting. It’s just a scary record that they aspire beat.

The second expectation is the heat. The sun seems to glare furiously at the beautiful city. It’s no worse really than anything they play under in places like Sri Lanka but it certainly feels like it. Because they’ve got the added pressure of the current Australian lead making sweat bead enough already.

But far from the perpetual cloud and rain of England, for training, at least, it feels like something of a holiday. A group of men who are all good friends, playing a game they love all day. Thinking of it like that takes the pressure of the series off their backs.

The Captain is happy to allow it – if only for an hour or two – because most of the team were dressed, padded and out of the dressing room door before he could stress the importance of winning the Test here. He knows they don’t need to be told it, but he tries to anyway because he needs to hear it for himself. To feel like a Captain, despite all the critical murmurs and sofa-bound hisses, and know that it’s on his shoulders alone to perform.

“You’re thinking too much~” comes one voice that as far as he knows, has never spoken a harsh word against him. It’s also close, and comes with a wash of warm breath on his neck.

Alastair turns his head to face Kevin who’s smiling at him like he means to cheer him up. Not that Alastair needs it, but the gesture is just that side of _caring_ that’s _cute_. How can he not smile back? He only just resists the urge to touch him. “About the weather. Initially,” he replies.

The South African doesn’t press for an extrapolation. Alastair knows he’s been talking his worries out in his sleep, but Kevin has never once said anything, but woken him with gentle kisses that promise of an era of loyalty. Instead, his smile widens more to mirth and he glances out of the long window.  “It is a bit crazy,” before he turns back, he bends to find something in his bag and produces his tube of zinc.

Alastair plucks it from his fingers and chuckles when Kevin deigns to look surprised. He shuffles around on the bench they sit regardless, resting his hands on Alastair’s thighs. He feels how those fingers squeeze him and thumbs rub tiny circles, teasingly just under his shorts, into his inner thighs. Part of Alastair is tempted to climb up and straddle him, but Ian’s in the far corner and looks at them between messages on his phone, wishing for all the world that they were somewhere else.

Uncapping the tube, he squirts an amount onto his forefingers. “Where do you want it?”

“It’s not like you to ask,” Kevin replies in a voice so low and quiet it’s the purr that Alastair usually hears through the back of his ear in the middle of the night. Yet, the brown of Kevin’s eyes still swirls with the quest to restore confidence in the Captain. It’s obvious that he wants to distract him from what looms in the days ahead. He tried to be entirely professional in Adelaide to no result, so Alastair relents.

He smirks, lowering his gaze to emphasise the importance of the motion of his hands as he spreads the zinc cream in his palms as he often does lubricant before reaching out to take Kevin’s cock in hand, or prep himself for the night ahead.  

The way Kevin’s hands slide up an additional inch or two does not go unnoticed. He slathers the thick white cream across Kevin’s cheeks. Rubbing it up to the line of shadow his cap will cast, he comes back down and works it into the very shape of Kevin’s lips, and into the stubble growing around them.

“Not sure I need _this_ much,” Kevin mutters, glancing down as Alastair squeezes out some more cream. He remains still and poised regardless.

“Nonsense,” he chides, leaning closer. As he slides his hands across Kevin’s face, adding another layer, he presses their mouths together briefly. “Can’t have my South African peach burning now, can I?”

“Peach? _Peach_?” Kevin laughs quietly, incredulously, and pulls Alastair up and onto his lap. The Captain wants to pretend that the show of strength does nothing for him, but he’s already grinning and his body nestles closer. When he spares a glance over Kevin’s shoulder, Ian’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What’s juicier than a peach?” Kevin continues in that most intimate of tones. His hands slide up Alastair’s back and push him down for another kiss.

It’s longer, deeper, and Alastair can feel the thick, white zinc rub off onto his skin. But he’s enjoying the kiss far too much to care, let alone stop it. Kevin’s tongue is as sharp and skilled as the rest of him, making Alastair hum deep in his throat. Before he really knows what he’s doing, his hands are moving round Kevin’s jaw, to cup around his skull. He catches himself just quick enough, stopping and palming what little is left of the cream over the South African’s ears.

“White suits you,” Kevin murmurs as they part for breath. He gingerly trails one finger across Alastair’s cheek where the cream had transferred. “Though I far prefer a _splatter_ of it than a _smudge_.”

In the background, it sounds like Ian is choking, it’s all but lost under Alastair’s bark of a laugh. He slaps Kevin’s shoulder as a reprimand though he’s much too amused for it to even hold a mockery of sincerity. “You would.”

“Seriously though,” Kevin’s smile drops back to that sweetness that only two people get to see – not that Alastair _thinks_ of the other one. He removes his hands from where they had fallen around the Captain’s bottom. “I don’t want you burning either.”

“But I—”

Kevin raises an eyebrow, shooting down the argument before it starts. The tube is retrieved before Alastair even submits. Well, he looks at the zinc, smirking like it’s something else that is usually presented for his other end and Kevin shakes his head, smiling.

Alastair leans back, not out of reach but denying all consent to being painted with the stuff. He licks his lips, not even trying his best to be alluring. It works because he sees Kevin’s adam’s apple bob profoundly. “I thought you _liked_ my tan.”

Kevin just hums coolly, eyes narrowing because he’s wondering just how far Alastair is willing to go to prevent him from applying the cream. “My favourite is still your snow-white arse thou—”

“ _Seriously_?” the Warwickshire batsman groans and pushes himself to his feet. “Here. I’m leaving, now you can have the bloody room.”

He stalks past the two of them, muttering under his breath all manner of bitterness’ that Alastair’s heard many times. They both know not to take it as anything more than what it is – hilarious. The dressing room door hasn’t even slammed shut before they’re chortling and sliding ever closer to each other now there’s absolute privacy.

“So,” Kevin sobers up first, waggling the tube of zinc between this index finger and thumb. “Where do you want it?”

Smirking, Alastair loops his arms around Kevin’s neck, casually, shamelessly; at just the right angle for another time-devouring kiss. “You _really_ have to ask?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in a lift, Alastair discovers that Kevin suffers from claustrophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU fluffiness

“I can’t believe this,” Kevin hisses under his breath and waves his phone around above his head, searching for some sort of signal. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Babe,” Alastair sighs and slumps against the cold glass that lines the back wall. The jerky movements of the phone’s bright screen in the dim emergency lights are making him dizzy and somewhat nauseous. “There’s no point, you can’t get reception in lifts.”

Kevin grunts, but continues for a further few seconds before jamming his phone and his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ve got things to do—I can’t be—”

“Look, it’s a probably a power cut or a surge or something, maybe a short circuit,” he limply reaches out to stroke Kevin’s shoulder but because he’s facing the closed doors, he doesn’t notice and jerks away as he starts to pace the tiny space they’ve got. Alastair pouts, following every single movement of that larger body. “It won’t be long.”

He knows only too well Kevin’s problem with being stuck in one place for any measure of time. He gets restless and bored and tetchy. The man constantly needs to be occupied or challenged and there’s absolutely nothing like that when confined in such a small metal box. It’s only been a few minutes since the lights flickered and the entire lift just shuddered to a halt. Kevin had paused for a second as Alastair just frowned, commenting on the sudden change in their situation with a simple “ _Oh, that’s not good._ ” Then the South African had jammed his thumb against the alarm button.

Though outwardly calm as always, Alastair still picks at the sides of his nails, mostly in a worried curiosity of what had happened. And how long they _will_  be here. And how long he’ll have to put up with Kevin in this state, who will make the lift rock if he paces any faster. The hotel must have some protocol, must _know_ they’re stuck here. These things happen all the time.

“I can’t believe this,” Kevin groans and throws his head back as he runs his hands through his hair. He’s still for a moment and Alastair stands up to run his hands down his upper arms.

“Hey, you could have worse company though, right?” he smiles, and sidles closer, attempting a joke but Kevin seems immune to it.

Those chocolate brown eyes just stare at him and one hand presses around his jaw. Then it falls back down to his side. “I guess, yeah.”

Alastair scoffs, definitely flattered by his overwhelming enthusiasm, and leans up to plant a quick kiss to his mouth. His eyebrows furrow deeply because he feels the South African's lips shivering. Upon opening his eyes, he finds Kevin’s wide and dilated, and not focused on anything. Then Kevin blinks, jolting back and grabs his phone from his pocket.

Leaning back against the wall again, Alastair absently chews on his thumbnail for a few moments, just _watching_ Kevin. Studying him. This is a sight completely new to him, the usually cool and collected South African moves with the skittishness of a small bird or rodent. This isn't restlessness. This is distress.

“Babe,” Alastair calls softly but Kevin doesn’t reply as he keeps on pressing the buttons on the panel. They don’t light up like they should and the lift still doesn’t move. “Baby—Kevin,” the man snaps his head to face him, probably shocked from his reverie with the name Alastair only calls him when he’s in a exceptionally foul mood. Alastair tilts his head to the side, curious and cautious and eyes soft. “Are you claustrophobic?”

“No,” Kevin scoffs derisively, turning away and pushes himself flush to the wall beside the control panel. “Don’t be stupid.”

Frowning, Alastair sees how his long fingers curl against the brushed steel and sees how fast that chest moves. There is no way this is normal – the only time Kevin breathes so quickly is if he’s pushing himself in the gym or when they’re making love quite vigorously.

 His lips pull tight and he runs his hand through his long dark hair. Kevin’s lying. That’s quite obvious. Anyone could see that, but perhaps only Alastair and a handful of others knows why. Having a phobia is having something control you. That in itself is probably another fear of Kevin’s. It’s something he would not want to admit to himself, let alone anyone else.

“It’s not a weakness, Baby,” Alastair continues in his same tender tone as before and steps across the foot and a half that separates them. He gives Kevin space, so he doesn’t feel even more oppressed than he already does, but lays his hands upon his lover’s fine chest. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Baby, we’re completely safe.”

He hates the words as he’s saying them, like they’re from some poorly-scripted daytime soap and hold as much worth as the wish that they’ll be saved by some ravishingly handsome firefighter. Kevin just scoffs again, bitterly and turns his head away.

“You have _no_ idea what this is like.”

Alastair sighs, not backing away like he sometimes does when Kevin’s being stubborn. He’s not entirely masochistic, and there are times when being away from his lover is the best thing for their relationship.  He’s not backing away because Kevin is vulnerable and in need of a distraction, rather than be blamed for lashing out when it is completely not his fault. Alastair understands that only too well.

“I have a phobia of needles,” he says flatly, utterly truthfully. Kevin slowly turns to look at him again, face twisted in confusion and surprise. It’s not something he tells people, not out of shame or fear of being teased, but it’s never come up in conversation and he’s not the type to broadcast things that are personal.

“Oh,” Kevin murmurs and blinks a few times. Alastair’s not entirely sure what his intentions were for that confession, either defending himself from the accusation or distracting Kevin with the ‘secret’ but both seem to have worked out.

He’s busy looking at Kevin’s face, still pale and his cheek muscles throb, and nearly jumps when he feels familiar hands slide up his sides to pull him into a tight embrace. He smiles, nestling his face into the crook of the South African’s neck to kiss that racing pulse. “C’mon, sit down. Freaking out isn’t doing you any good.”

Kevin grunts in his ear but angles his head to kiss it. He pulls away, letting Alastair go slowly and rife with reluctance as if it was the only real comfort in their situation. Probably because the proximity reminds him of other times, or maybe he appreciates the company, the caring, the empathy. Or maybe Kevin feels as safe with Alastair as Alastair does with Kevin.

That thought makes Alastair grin widely and he has to rein in the expression to a warm curl to his lips and he slides down the wall to sit on the well-worn carpet. Holding out his hand in a gesture to be joined, Kevin follows his motion and takes the offered hand onto his lap.

Alastair can still feel him shivering and lays his head upon Kevin’s shoulder. “You’re really weird, you know that?” he pauses, not looking for a reply but hears Kevin’s snort. If he feels insulted or indignant or whatever, Alastair isn’t looking to offend. He wants a conversation: a distraction. “Claustrophobic yet you love planes.”

“I love the _mechanics_ of planes, _flight_ _,_ ” the South African grumbles and draws his knees up, slinging his arms, and Alastair’s hand, around them. “But… I don’t feel it in planes… I can look out the window and there’s so much _space_. It’s like being in a room with an amazing view.”

Alastair chuckles, rubbing his cheek into the smooth cotton of Kevin’s shirt. “Can’t you close your eyes; make believe you’re on a plane, going somewhere really nice?”

Kevin laughs a little, tilting his head to rest on his. He closes his eyes and releases a long, shaky breath. “Fiji. We're going to Fiji. A nice long break. Just the two of us and all the cocktails in the world.”

Stretching his legs out, Alastair closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. “Sounds good,”

“ _Hmm_ , all day spent on the beach. Swimming, diving, working up a tan – you’ll be naked of course—”

“Of course,” Alastair chuckles dismissively. “What else?”

Kevin’s silent for a while, but Alastair can feel his cheek against his temple and knows he’s smiling. He makes a quiet noise that serves as a repeat of his question. There’s a little scoff and Kevin raises his hand to kiss the back of it. “Just thinking of the sex we’d have. A private villa with a hot tub… our own stretch of beach.”

Humming, amused and pleased, Alastair twists his hand in the South African’s hold to cup and stroke his stubbly cheek. “Tell me more, please.”

Kevin chuckles, the low purr-like noise he makes whenever he’s never more pleased to have Alastair for a lover. He slides Alastair’s hand from his face and takes it back down to his lap to clasp onto. It tells Alastair that whilst the distraction is working – his breathing has gone back down to normal and the fact he’s sat still means something – there’s still remnants of his agitation lingering in his mind.

“We’d start in the morning, of course—”

“—Of course—”

“Sunrise through the gauze curtains, playing on your back as I kiss down it. Every _single_ vertebrae and  _down_. You’ll writhe and moan as I lick your—”

Just as Alastair is considering moving to cross his legs to work away the tension building between them, the lights above them burst on and the lift judders back to life. Never before has Kevin released such a long, deep and relieved sigh.

He cracks his eyes open again, knowing that they should get up for when the doors open. He suspects that Kevin will only be too eager to get out the lift as soon as possible. But Alastair’s reluctant to move. Reluctant to be _out_ in the world and around other people now that he and Kevin have shared something deeply private and intimate about themselves. Plus the fact that Kevin’s little fantasies have worked their devious magic on him.

“How about you and I go back up to our room?” he says aloud, echoing the sentiment.

Kevin hums, moving and nodding, before he pulls them both up to their feet. “But we’re taking the stairs.”


End file.
